


moriah

by soaring_lyrebird



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Wilbur Hears Chat as Voices, Angst, Character Development, Character Study, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Insane Wilbur Soot, Redemption, Self-Discovery, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot-centric, identity crisis pog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28004424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soaring_lyrebird/pseuds/soaring_lyrebird
Summary: “You can’tbelievewhat the voices are getting up too,” Wilbur said, cracking a smile.Dream tilted his head. “Huh?”“You know, the voices,” Wilbur said, gesturing to his head. “Everyone has them.”“I- what?”“The little thoughts rolling around in your head?” he asked desperately. “Please tell me you know what I’m talking about.”-or-Since birth, Wilbur could hear voices. Who is he with their influence? (and what does he become when they're taken away?)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Chat (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 59
Kudos: 498
Collections: MCYT Fic Rec





	1. cacophony

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> This story is a work of fiction, and shouldn't be used as a reference for how people with auditory hallucinations or similar mental illnesses behave. There is nothing inherently violent about people with those kinds of symptoms, and they most commonly present very differently from depictions in this story. Although unintentional, this trope of a fictional entity speaking to characters is rooted in ableism, and may be harmful. Please proceed with caution.

_BLOW IT UP_

_DO IT DO IT_

_tnt poggggg_

* * *

“Good to meet with you, Dream.” He shook his hand, and the two of them sat down. “It’s been a nightmare sorting everything out before the election.” 

_POG2020_

“I can imagine,” Dream replied, getting into his seat. His clothes were different, more casual than his usual battle attire. Wilbur was grateful for the change.

“You can’t _believe_ what the voices are getting up too,” Wilbur said, cracking a smile. 

_he do be referencing chat in-universe_

_SCHLATT2020_

Dream tilted his head. “Huh?”

“You know, the voices,” Wilbur said, gesturing to his head. “Everyone has them.”

“I- what?”

_WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT_

“The little thoughts rolling around in your head?” he asked desperately. “Please tell me you know what I’m talking about.”

Dream stayed silent. Then, his posture shifted, his shoulders rolling back and his back sitting up straight. “I don’t think I do.”

_OOOH_

_SCARY DREAM SCARY DREAM_

“Like- none? At all? You-” Wilbur stared in shock. “You _don’t_ get those?”

_dré what are you doingggggg_

“Nope,” Dream said, a smirk in his voice. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I can’t- okay then,” Wilbur said, taking out a paper from his bag. “Honestly, I’m pretty surprised, with your whole manic blowing-up-the-place.”

_WTF WTF_

Dream tapped his feet against the edge of his chair. “Nope.” He smirked. “That was all me.”

_b r u h_

“Huh,” Wilbur said. “In that case, here’s your invitation, uhh-” Dream’s eyes began drifting towards the piece of paper in his hands, “I’ll be on my way.” He set the paper down.

Dream snatched it from the desk, opening a drawer and getting out a letter knife. “Bye,” he sang. 

_that could have gone better_

_LMAOO RIP TO WILBUR_

“Shut up, chat.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, waving a goodbye and slamming the door behind him.

He wasn’t crazy. That much, he knew.

_how does dream not have chat??_

Still, he walked back home with his hands shoved away in his pockets, a sullen expression on his face. He ignored Tommy’s questioning look and went straight to bed. Maybe tomorrow would give him answers.

* * *

Since birth, Wilbur could hear voices.

They were whispers, then, rolling thoughts and images that didn’t mean much. He entertained them a couple of times, and they got louder.

* * *

“And the one with the most votes, as you all could probably guess by now, is-” he felt his jacket muffle the speaker, as he opened the envelope and pulled out the slip. “Pog twenty-twenty.”

 _WHOOOOOOOOOO_ _  
_ _YEAH B O I_

There was a buzz in the air, but Wilbur’s solemn look shut down any celebration. “But, Quackity promised that, no matter what happens, he’d pool his votes with Schlatt twenty-twenty, _meaning,”_ he said, his heart rushing. “That the coalition government of Schlatt twenty-twenty won the election, with forty-six percent of the vote."

_WHAT_

_h u h_

A silent shock went through the audience, rigid shoulders, hands over mouths, a quiet shaking from Tommy next to him. He gave a brief smile, looking back at his competition. “I- I want to say it’s been an honor competing with you Schlatt, but-”

_nonoNONONO_

He sighed. “Just come up here and deliver your inauguration speech.” He stepped away from the microphone, bowing in the other man’s direction before sitting back down with Tommy. 

_dammit_

_WE’RE FUCKEDDDDD_

Schlatt walked up, hands clasped behind his back. 

“Well, that was pretty easy.” He smirked, grabbing the microphone and pacing across the stage, slowly and deliberately. “You know what I said, the day I announced I was running?” he said, turning towards the two men in the center of the stage. George and Quackity silently giggled to themselves, not answering.

_shit shit SHIT SHIT_

“I said, ‘I’m gonna make some _big_ changes around here.’” His eyes scanned the crowd, uncaring, and Wilbur likened him to a predator. “I looked every citizen of _L’manburg_ -” he scoffed at the name- “And said, ‘things are going to be a lot different tomorrow.”

Tommy balled his hands into fists, shaking by his side. Wilbur nudged him, and Tommy began opening and closing them instead. 

He sighed, straightening his tie, and narrowing his gaze. “Let’s start making it happen.” Schlatt had made his way all across the stage, coming back around to its center.

_FUCK FUCK FUCK_

_shiiiiiit man_

“My first decree,” he shouted, “as the president- nay, the _emperor_ , of this great country.” Wilbur felt his heart drop. “Is to _revoke_ the citizenship-” he began scanning the crowd, locking his gaze on Wilbur- “of Wilbur Soot and Tommyinnit.” 

_RUN RUN RUN_

_gogogogogogogogogogo_

_N O_

_what the fuck what the fuck-_

The voices, a quiet chatter, began to echo louder and louder, as Wilbur felt his legs scramble off the podium, and into the audience. They screamed at him, to leave and never return, of his friends’ betrayal, of the incoming dictatorship. 

He was no longer welcome.

_runrunrunrunrun_

_TOMMY WILBUR R U N_

His legs carried him as far as they could, running past the walls that reached to the sky and the forest beyond them. Grass stained his jacket, and his hat had been blown to the wind. The voices weren’t helping.

_EXILE ARC POG_

_they’re following you!! on the right!!!!_

“Oh my god, chat,” he mumbled, dipping into the trees. “Now is not the time.”

A bush coughed beside him. “Who- who’er you talking to, Wilbur?” Tommy groaned, his uniform looking similarly mangled. 

_TOMMY’S ALRIGHT_

_yayayayay_

“Nobody important,” Wilbur said, his tone dismissive. He ignored the wave of relief that came from Tommy’s presence. “C’mon, we have to find shelter before- before nightfall.”

* * *

Performing for the voices became addicting.

Every moment they would pester him, every scrap of drama he gave them left them hungry. The more he indulged them, the more they multiplied and grew louder. 

He loved the attention. Who wouldn’t want to be a star?

* * *

The voices had been insufferable after the festival, after he’d claimed he blow it up and then L’manburg remained intact.

_BLOW IT UP_

_DO IT DO IT_

_tnt poggggg_

_RIP TO THE TWITTER GUY_

He could barely hear his own thoughts beside the ever-present echo, and the small, internal monologue got drowned out by a sea of incessant voices, all asking him to do one, simple thing.

_blow it up_

_BLOW IT UP_

_BOOM BOOM BITCH_

After Tubbo finished his speech, Wilbur’s mind seemed to gravitate to the room with the button, where he’d etched his possession of L’manburg into the walls. The room seemed to beckon him, and he found himself crawling up the hill into its hiding place, each step amplifying the voices’ reach.

_BLOW IT UP_

_do it do it do it_

His right foot hit the floor, the echoes grew louder. His left foot did too, and soon he was crawling, the button screaming at him to set off the dynamite, to blow the place to smithereens.

The voices agreed with the button. They, too, wanted to see L’manburg a crater.

_BLOW UP LMANBURG_

_what are you waiting for?_

When he finally stood in front of the button, the voices were the loudest, and quietest. They mocked him, teased each other about how he’d stop himself again. The itch to prove them wrong became overwhelming.

_PHIL?????_

_philza minecraft pog_

There was a shadow of a man cast in the doorway, the torchlight illuminating him on the floor. Wilbur stared openly at the man, his eyes dim. The man’s mouth opened and closed, his chest rising and falling.

_PHIL POG_

_BLOW IT UP BLOW IT UP_

_its too late for a redemption arc_

_sa;ldfkjasdl just blow it up!!_

No sound came out. All Wilbur could hear were the voices, blood rushing through his ears. With a grunt, he slammed his fist down onto the button, a resounding crack echoing throughout the walls.

_HELL YEAH_

_TNT POGCHAMP_

There was a boom that shook the Earth, starting and stopping until the stone separating him and the rest of L’manburg fell down with it. Wilbur couldn’t feel his right hand, and he stared down at the twitching fingers. If he looked hard enough, he could see the bone poking through.

It was quiet.

* * *

He remembered his death as a blinding white light, a crying figure embracing him, and his ears ringing uncontrollably.

When he woke up, skin pale and eyes dull, he felt oddly alone.

Maybe he missed that crying figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sdl;fkjasdfkl;ads hullo again!! the second chapter for this is half-way done, should be posted in the next 5-7 days. i am _not_ offended if one of you marks this for later!
> 
> this took ~2.5 hours? over the course of like,,a week and a half. it's been a while. 
> 
> the title is a reference to the biblical mountain on which abraham was asked to sacrifice isaac, and especially in my recent philosophy class relates to this idea of choice and faith and alternatives. it doesnt fit as well as with the original outline, but i still think its neat :] the second chapter's gonna focus more on this, but i have some character development/journey of self discovery planned, so stay tuned :))
> 
> lemme know what you think in the comments! <3


	2. silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky was multitudes of colors. Wilbur was transfixed on the skyline, watching as more vibrant hues would appear the closer the sun got to the horizon. He felt an innate sense of wonder at that, at the way the wind rustled his hair and made him feel the closest he’d been to alive.
> 
> “Woah.”
> 
> “Pretty cool, huh?” Phil asked, holding him close.
> 
> Wilbur nodded, resting his eyes. Softly, he began fiddling with his sweater, the only colorful piece of clothing, and fell into a state of rest.
> 
> “What was it all for?” he murmured, staring at the sunset. The glow had fallen below the horizon, and a chill began settling in the air. “I lived a life I can’t remember, and then I came back just the same.”

When he came to, a winged man stood on the hill beside him. 

“Wilbur!” the man said, waving him over. “How’s it been?”

Wilbur, he supposed, looked pensive. “Wil-bur?”

“Yeah, your name. You feelin’ alright?” The man’s wings looked a bit ruffled, reaching out in concern. 

“Not really, I think I died,” he said, matter-of-fact.

The man chuckled. “I suppose that explains the outfit change, huh.”

Wilbur got uncomfortable at that, rubbing his arm and looking down. “Who- who are you?” 

His wings stilled, coming to a fold behind their back. “I’m Phil. Philza, depending on who you ask.” Phil reached out, putting an arm around Wilbur. 

Wilbur shrank away.

“Do you- do you not remember me?” Phil asked softly.

Wilbur shook his head.

“Oh.”

Wilbur felt a little bitter at that; it wasn’t his fault his memory wasn’t working. “Yeah, big surprise. Imagine finding out you’re _dead.”_

Phil flinched. “Sorry I just- I know who you used to be. When you were alive, I mean,” he said, voice trailing off. “I was your older brother, we joked about me being your dad. We were close, that’s all.” He looked back at Wilbur, eyes tracing the shapes of his silhouette. 

Wilbur went silent. Slowly, Phil extended a wing around him, and he sat down with Phil on the edge of the hill, overlooking the crater. He asked what caused the damage, and Phil mentioned vaguely a couple of withers and a stack of dynamite. He asked who did it, who set the explosives off and summoned the mobs.

“Oh, just a few people who didn’t like the place.” Phil didn’t elaborate. 

He looked at the destruction and wondered what its purpose was. The sun hung low in the sky, giving off a soft glow that covered everything in orange and yellow. Lush, green grass and trees to his back let a cool breeze through, and he could smell the petals and the nectar beneath the two of them.

He wondered how anyone could destroy this. He voiced these concerns to Phil.

“Well,” Phil said, crossing his arms. “I think people get tired of the way they’ve been treated.”

“Sure,” Wilbur said. “Doesn’t give them the right to blow up a forest.”

Phil paused. “Yeah, but you asked me why I thought someone would destroy it, so,” he said, looking back. “That’s why, I think.”

Wilbur was silent. Then, he asked, “Can I sit next to you?”

“Sure,” Phil said, beckoning him closer.

He slouched onto Phil’s shoulder, closing his eyes. Phil’s chest would rise and fall every few seconds, the setting sun making the sky transform from blue to red to a soft orange.

The sky was multitudes of colors. Wilbur was transfixed on the skyline, watching as more vibrant hues would appear the closer the sun got to the horizon. He felt an innate sense of wonder at that, at the way the wind rustled his hair and made him feel the closest he’d been to alive.

“Woah.”

“Pretty cool, huh?” Phil asked, holding him close.

Wilbur nodded, resting his eyes. Softly, he began fiddling with his sweater, the only colorful piece of clothing, and fell into a state of rest.

“What was it all for?” he murmured, staring at the sunset. The glow had fallen below the horizon, and a chill began settling in the air. “I lived a life I can’t remember, and then I came back just the same.”

Phil’s wings tensed. “Are you asking what the meaning of life is?” he teased, muscles relaxing. “I don’t know _that._ ”

Wilbur’s thoughts came to a halt. 

“That’s something you have to figure out for yourself,” Phil said, giving him a smile. “I can’t give you the answer.”

“So it changes, then?” Wilbur tugged at his skin, pale and empty “For everyone?”

Phil nodded.

“Oh.” Leaves flew off the ground and into Wilbur’s face, and he looked at them in awe. “I guess I’ll have to figure out what my life meant, then,” Wilbur declared, watching the wind pick up. 

“Good luck.” Phil smiled, rubbing circles into his back.

The sun fell out of view completely, the sky remaining a dark purple for a few minutes. Then, Wilbur watched as _that_ faded too, leaving an array of glittering stars.

* * *

Fundy shuffled his feet, looking unsettled by Wilbur’s presence. He tended to have that effect on people, everyone he’d walked past looked uncomfortable at his existence, especially when he laughed or smiled or did anything indicating happiness. 

“You wanted to know about Wilbur- _Alive_ Wilbur, huh?” Fundy said awkwardly, his tail tapping the ground. “What do you want to know?”

“I made a list,” Wilbur said helpfully, bringing out a book. “Of everything I already remember. I was hoping you could help me fill in the blanks.”

Fundy took the book gently from his hands, frowning when he began sifting through the pages. “This is all you know? Hey- You remember me!” 

Wilbur chuckled. “Yeah, you were my son, or, I remember saying that.”

Fundy went still at his laugh, and sat back down, gesturing for Wilbur to sit beside him. He took a deep breath. “You really want to know _everything?”_ he asked, a pained look on his face.

“Yeah.” Wilbur was resolute.

“Okay, well.” Fundy started combing back through the paper, going off the lines. “You remember the revolution and the elections, right? That’s a huge chunk of it.”

Wilbur nods. “Some bits of them are fuzzy, but yeah. We talked it out with Dream and we got our independence. Oh, I even wrote a letter about it and everything!”

Fundy looked pained as he smiled. “Yeah, well, that- that _did_ happen.” He coughs. The air grew tenser, as Fundy’s posture hunched inward and Wilbur went quiet. “There was also a lot of fighting, Ghostbur. Tommy ended up dueling Dream for our freedom.”

“Oh,” Wilbur said. “I don’t remember that part.”

“Yeah, then-” Fundy paused. “Dream also blew the place up, the first time.”

“That’s rude of him.”

“Well, you blew it up the second time, so,” Fundy said bitterly. “I- I don’t think you can talk badly about him.” He looked away, ears flattening. “Anyway-”

“Wait,” Wilbur said. His post-mortem emotions had been a blend of grays and whites, but now drops of red and orange were splattered into the mix. “ _Alivebur_ blew up L’manburg? What- What do you mean?”

“You didn’t know?” Fundy asked. “I- Yeah, Wilbur,” Fundy snarled, crossing his arms. “You blew the place up and then Phil fucking- he killed you. In front of everyone.”

Wilbur felt his insides squirm. “I- What?” he said weakly, staring at the ground. 

“Yeah, you went fucking insane and rigged the- rigged L’manburg up with like, eleven stacks of-” Fundy cut himself off, his teeth remaining bared and static as silence settled in the air. 

Wilbur was trembling, flinching when Fundy looked back up at him and cringing the longer he felt eyes on him. 

“Shit-” Fundy said, setting down the list and moving towards him. “I-” he sighed. “Wilbur, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

Wilbur slowly began to uncurl himself from his ball on the floor. “Sounds like I deserved it,” he said, voice hollow. 

Fundy gritted his teeth before holding his arms out, and Wilbur embraced him back. They stayed there for a moment, Fundy’s chest rising and falling and Wilbur’s shaking tapering off. If he concentrated hard enough, Wilbur could feel the wind brushing against his skin, instead of just passing through.

He coughed awkwardly, staring at the floor. “So, how shitty of a person was Alive-Wilbur?” Wilbur asked, grimacing. 

“You weren’t the best friend,” Fundy said softly, squeezing him tightly. “You were always putting the country first, then you were exiled,” he said, his voice trailing off. “It was a lot sometimes.”

Wilbur took his head off of Fundy’s chest. “I’m sorry Alivebur was such a prick.” 

“It’s- Well, it’s _not_ okay, but there’s nothing you can do anymore, I guess.” Fundy looked Wilbur in the eyes, softening; invisible claws seemed to retract in his gaze. “We used to joke that you were my dad. But, you were more like a friend than anything else,” he chuckled to himself. “You were always the one leading us- leading L’manburg.”

Wilbur nodded, smiling slightly. “That sounds nice.”

“It was.” Fundy smiled back. “I don’t think you were a completely bad person, just-” he paused. “Really, _really,_ reckless sometimes.”

“I- I don’t know how to make it up to you,” Wilbur said, looking around. The grass offered no solution, and he glanced back at the ground, feeling hopeless. 

“It’s really okay- You don’t need to do anything-”

“Uhh- Here, have some blue,” Wilbur blurted. From his pockets, Wilbur took out a handful of blue dye, shoving it into Fundy’s lap. “It’ll take away the sadness.”

“Okay,” Fundy said, drawing out the word. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket, looking back at Wilbur. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Wilbur chirped, letting the words fall flat in the air. They felt empty, almost, and filled the silence before dissipating once again.

Fundy eventually let him be, leaving Wilbur to stare at the grass and ponder. What kind of person was Alivebur? From the sounds of Fundy and Phil, not a very good one. How much of that remained in him, festered below his conscious and influenced his decisions?

Who was he now, dead? Was he related at all to his past life, or was he a shade, a shadow, something not quite broken yet not quite whole? Could he truly live in peace alongside those his counterpart had hurt so much? He thought about whether he’d be better off somewhere else instead, where his presence didn’t spark unwanted memories and the people Alivebur had hurt never got closure. 

Interrupting his musings, a green-clad man stood at his right.

“Oh, hello.” Wilbur looked up in surprise. The man seemed open and friendly, but something about his presence made Wilbur tense in anticipation. “Hey, Wilbur!”

“Hello,” Wilbur said, weary. “What’s your name?”

“You _don’t_ know?” the man teased. Energy rolled off of him in waves, and Wilbur felt the same underlying tension from him that came with everyone on the server.

This man was keeping secrets from him. He shouldn’t be surprised. 

“No, I really don’t.” Wilbur tried to keep his tone light, but the dread pooling inside him said otherwise. “You know my name, what’s yours?”

The man laughed, ignoring his question. “Wow, I can’t believe you came _back_ , as like a ghost.” Wilbur felt like the punchline to some sick joke. “Is it better? Being dead?”

“I- what?” Wilbur smiled awkwardly. 

“Like, is it better being a ghost?” The man chuckled at Wilbur’s scrunched expression. “What, I’m curious!”

“No,” Wilbur said, voice steadier than he felt. “It’s pretty terrible.”

The man crossed his arms. “Do you still have those voices, or whatever?”

“No?” Wilbur said, uncertain. “What voices?”

For the second time Wilbur’s stomach turned as the man began laughing again, a harsh wheeze that seemed to barely escape his lungs. He tugged at the beanie on his head, wanting to disappear.

“Are- are you okay?” Wilbur asked. “That can’t be good for you.”

“Oh, I’m doing _great,”_ the man said, doubling down in laughter. “It’s so much better now that you’re dead.”

Wilbur’s insides went uncomfortably warm as the man said that. “I don’t think that’s a very nice thing to say, you know.”

“Really?” The man said, a smirk in his voice. “Oh, come on now, I’m just telling the truth.”

Wilbur went quiet, his mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out.

“Everyone on this server wants to _pretend_ that you don’t exist,” the man said, fiddling with a knife. “They all want to look away and block you out of sight and- and try to forget about you.”

Wilbur felt his eyes shake, darting from the knife in the man’s hands to the white mask covering his face. How had he just noticed it? He’d been facing away from him, and the green hood had covered it; but now, looking towards him, those black dots seemed to stare at something stirring, deep inside of him.

“You blew up the one place of sanctity for your friends!” he said, voice growing louder as Wilbur kept shrinking away. “Boom, off the map. _I_ think it had something to do with those voices you kept mentioning- Alive you, kept mentioning,” he said nonchalantly. The knife kept twirling in his fingers, and he’d emphasize his words by sharply jerking it left and right. “But who knows? Maybe you really just went insane, and your mind’s preventing you from remembering it so it doesn’t happen again.”

“I-” Wilbur stammered. Despite his pale and translucent skin, he could feel the hairs on his arm rising and a non-existent breath racing. “Wha-”

“My name’s Dream, by the way,” he said, giving a mock-wave. “I’ll see you around.”

Just as quickly as he came, the masked man left. Wilbur stayed shaking and trembling on the ground for a moment, filled with even more questions than before.

What were the voices Dream had mentioned? Was there some stark, invisible difference between him and Alivebur that Fundy never thought to tell him? Why didn’t Fundy trust him? He’d made it clear how different he was now that he was gone, his veins drained of blood and his eyes devoid of life. If Fundy couldn’t tell the difference, could anyone else?

Was Wilbur doomed to make the same mistakes as the man before him? No, that couldn’t be true. Wilbur reviewed how he’d acted in the past two conversations compared to how Alivebur would have acted. He couldn’t be the same man, that wouldn’t make any sense.

He still had to discover himself, though. What he wanted, how he wanted to live out the rest of his days as an untethered spirit, questions about meaning that Alivebur never got to ask. Or, at least, not ponder like he was doing now.

* * *

“You’re asking _me_ how to be a good person?” Techno asked, crossing his arms. A pang of regret shot through Wilbur’s chest; he was a fool for coming here. 

Phil had told him about another ‘son’ of his, another friend that had messed up at some point and had gone to live out away from the rest of society. He suggested Wilbur ask his opinion, learn more about life and ideologies and things Wilbur didn’t quite understand yet. 

Techno kept rifling through his chests, waiting for a response.

“I- I mean, yeah?” Wilbur said awkwardly. “I’m just curious about how you live your life. From- from what Phil said it sounds like you did some bad things too.” They both had brought L’manburg to the ground, Wilbur mused, if Phil was right about the withers and Fundy about the explosives.

“Oh,” Techno said. “Well, I wouldn’t say _bad_ things-”

“Phil told me you could help,” Wilbur blurted, crossing his arms. “I just- I feel a little lost, after death. I’m starting from scratch.”

Techno raised an eyebrow. “You have no memories? None? At all?” Despite his monotone, Wilbur could hear the scrutiny directed at him. 

“I mean- I kind of remember you? Growing up together?” Wilbur said, internally cringing at his uncertainty. “Like- like when we would swordfight! Or play capture the flag, that sort of thing.” 

“Huh.” Techno sounded impressed. “Okay, what’d you want to ask me?”

“How do you deal with it?” Wilbur said, fidgeting with his sweater. “I- I’ve been around for less than a week and already there’s a crushing weight on my back. How I should live, what I should do- All of it’s a mystery and _no-one_ will give me a straight answer.” 

Techno stayed silent, nodding his head.

“I guess I just feel a little lost, is all,” Wilbur finished awkwardly, bowing his head.

“You’re asking me the meaning of life,” Techno said, deadpan.

“I guess I am.”

“Um, hold on,” Techno said, before going silent. He began to pace back and forth, his heels echoing the noise on the wooden floor. 

Wilbur felt his phantom heartbeat move to the noise, his nerves rising the longer the silence continued. 

“I’m bad at talking to people, if you couldn’t tell already.”

“It’s okay,” Wilbur stammered. “Really.”

“I guess my moral code has helped me? Figure stuff out?” Techno said, fiddling with his robe and his chains; a restless energy, similar to Dream, kept him moving around the room. Wilbur shook away the comparison. “It’s easier to have a set of rules and try to live your life by them than just,” he paused. “Go out on your own.”

Wilbur stared at the ground in contemplation, as if between the etches and grooves of the pattern he would find his answers. Then, he looked back up. “How do you find your rules?”

Techno shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess they’re different for everyone,” he said, at a loss for words. “What- what do you care about, Ghostbur?”

Wilbur couldn’t reply. He didn’t have an answer.

“What are the things you care about, like, a lot? More than you probably should?” Techno said, growing louder. His features softened at Wilbur’s lost expression. “I- Sorry. I can’t really tell you that.”

“I guess my friends,” Wilbur whispered, the words barely leaving his mouth. “And their happiness. And,” he paused, running his hands through his hair. “Sometimes that means I’m not in the picture.”

Techno titled his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Sometimes when they look at me, all they see is Alivebur. The one that hurt them,” Wilbur said slowly. “I- I want them to be happy, Techno, you know this. But how can I, if they don’t want to see me?”

Techno’s eyes went somber. “Sometimes, you just gotta let them be.” He got up, stretching out his arms and legs. “It’s why I came up here, in retirement.”

“I want to _see_ them happy, though!” Wilbur said, his voice rising. “I- I wanna make them happy, not just sit all by myself.” His body began to move in tandem with his words, and a breath of life flushed through his face. “They- they look so _nice_ when they smile, and grin, and I- I wanna make it up to them,” he paused, “for the shitty things Alivebur did.” he panted, taking a breath, and looked back at Techno.

He chuckled. “There’s your rules.”

“Oh,” Wilbur said, as if he’d just had a revelation. “One last thing.”

“Go ahead.”

“Dream talked about people, like, in Alivebur’s head,” he said awkwardly. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Techno chuckled. “You mean the voices? Chat?”

“Yeah!” Wilbur’s eyes lit up with recognition. “That.”

“They’re annoying, a lot of the time,” Techno said, with fond admonition. “They’ll encourage you to do dumb things and then aren’t very helpful when you get into trouble.” Techno yawned. “But they aren’t that big of a deal.”

Wilbur looked guiltily at the floor.

“You talk about them like you don’t have them.”

“Not anymore, I don’t think.” Wilbur shuffled his feet. “Do they matter?”

“Do you hear them?” Techno countered, raising an eyebrow.

Wilbur broke out into a small smile. “I suppose not.”

* * *

Tommy squinted at the sheet of paper in his hands. “What the fuck is this, Ghostbur?”

Wilbur smiled. “It’s a list! Of the things I wanna do with you.” He gestured along the edges, pointing out words such as ‘build a house!’ and ‘getting a friend.’ “We’re on vacation, let’s have some fun.”

Tommy chuckled under his breath, flipping the list over in his hands. “Okay, Ghostbur. Whatever you say.” 

Wilbur watched, Tommy slowly uncurling himself as the hours bled into the night; their list nearly all checked off. He would do anything to keep that smile, a brilliant beam of light, on Tommy’s face.

* * *

Since death, Wilbur only had silence to guide him.

He managed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoooo this was a bitch to put out, but happy christmas present, i suppose? to anyone reading this? this was a w i l d ride to write for me, and i hope you check out the other cool stuff i posted since chapter one!
> 
> took me like. four hours. maybe five? over the span of two weeks. we love and stan qar's discord server for getting me through the week.
> 
> happy holidays to everyone!! i hope this was a nice gift to see, and thank you so much for your love and support! <3
> 
> (was the scene of fundy yelling at ghostbur completely _necessary?_ debatable. was it me just sneaking in that sweet, sweet ventfic? mayhaps. :))


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